


for the torn down, the experts at the fall

by displayheartcode



Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: M/M, Reincarnation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:54:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4808711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/displayheartcode/pseuds/displayheartcode
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Perhaps over time your souls can join as one again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	for the torn down, the experts at the fall

**Author's Note:**

> I deal with stress by writing sad and unedited fics. 
> 
> Hi, Jay. Hope you like the sad.

**i.**

He is dying in your arms this time. 

Gold hair is twisted with blood, his eyes are large and unseeing as death moves closer to steal him away for another time. You try, oh gods above, do you try to save this man. It's at the peak capacity in the emergency room, and people are working around the clock to try to delay what humans do the best at.  

You don’t know him and he doesn’t know you.

Does this make the tragedy less painful?

The man lets out a rattling breath, maybe his last. Green eyes snap open to see your face, and for a second between the adrenaline and stress, there is almost a connection.

Almost.

He dies as you place your hands over his chest, trying the force the heart you once loved to beat again.   

“I need—“ you try to shout over the crowd of people that fill the large room. An AED reaches you, but by then it is still too late.

It’s only when you also lose the child, a result from the car wreck, is when you allow yourself to cry.

**ii.**

We are often terrified by the bonds that we create as humans.

It is, to might say, that we are inexplicably connected to those in our past, present, and future. The amount of times when lives have crossed create a spider-web of moments that we often don’t see. Wee have entire lifetimes with people that we don’t know, all of those possibilities are still there. 

This scares us.

It scares them. 

“Pat,” says the taller of the two. The autumn sunlight burnishes him into something golden and too beautiful and you hate it.

He feels it. You feel it. There is something that you notice when you're together. You have moments that feel shadowed by something stranger that you both can't name.  

You curl your hands by your sides. “Don’t say it,” you beg.

The silence surrounds them, but the bond feels too loud.

You are painfully aware of him. It’s been joked before on how you two could guess the other’s moves and feelings, but now that blessing feels more like a curse to know someone as well as one might know their own soul.

“My mother…” he tries again. He fails with his words. 

You stalk off before he can find them. 

**iii.**

“I’m going to be the best!” the boy shouts.

You roll your eyes at your gym partner. “It’s only a three-legged race.” You look at him again (ignoring the way you can see new freckles that grace his face). “Do you hear the half the things that you say sometimes? Because you sound really weird.”

He pouts. “But glory—“ 

Not this again.

You ignore him and bend down to tie your legs together.

“Whatever,” you grumble. “Forget your glory because we have to work together.”

You stand back up and there is something different about the expression on his face.

“Patrick,” he says. 

You raise an eyebrow.  “Yes, Adrian?” 

He stops his strange expression to glare at their competitors. They are elementary school-aged children that are also ready to win and claim their own glory. “You think we can beat them?” 

You humor him; knowing full well what a terrible runner you are. “We’ll be the first.”

“The first.” He smiles at you and it feels like the sun. 

You ignore this, too.

He reaches for your hand. “Are you ready?”

You look at him and almost see something at the edge of your vision. He looks older, and for that moment, you felt the weight of something on your shoulders. The green field full of children vanishes into the scenery of waves crashing behind them, the air tasting of salt and something free.

It’s all there for a second when the sunlight comes over your eyes, and for that dizzying piece of time, your soul knows his.

The moment eclipses when you take his hand. Your head feels light and your stomach is rolling with nerves, bus his hand is steadfast and tethers you.

“I’m ready.”


End file.
